


Heads or Tails

by unviincible (broodingmischief)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Empurata, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mindless Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6165362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broodingmischief/pseuds/unviincible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to Empurata victims, it's always best to ask nicely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heads or Tails

**Author's Note:**

> I am in dire need of more Tailgate/Whirl/Cyclonus content so I went and wrote something up for myself! If it ends up confusing in the slightest, [here's a handy little guide](http://i.imgur.com/TomxXkq.jpg) I threw together for the terminology I use for Whirl's head. I've drawn it so many times so his picture is very clear in my mind but I realize not everyone may have that advantage.

 

Tailgate stared at the corner of the projection. His eyes had begun in the middle and slowly drifted outwards until they stared at nothing, the picture a blur of motion between humans and their voices like white noise. He hadn't realized he'd been daydreaming until someone tapped his thigh. He squeaked, jerked in surprise, and glanced wildly for the source.

"Oi, pipsqueak."

Tailgate's eyes landed on Whirl, sprawled out lengthways beside him. His lone optic shone up at him through the dark and his foot bobbed up and down from a leg crossed over his knee. The two sat at the back of the makeshift bleacher Swerve set up in the bar every movie night. Tonight it was a rom-com, or so Tailgate was lead to believe. Normally he claimed a seat at the front, but today he'd curled up against the back wall, his thoughts elsewhere. He'd only recently been released from the infirmary from his fight with Cybercrosis and the pain inhibitors were still working their magic, inadvertently causing him to space out.

Whirl blinked. "You haven't commented for a while."

"Oh, uh." Tailgate glanced at the movie, then back at Whirl. "What happened?"

Whirl shrugged. "I'unno. I wasn't paying attention, either."

"Then what're you doing?" he asked.

"Watching everyone else."

Tailgate snorted. Someone _shh'd_ and he hiked up his shoulders, mumbling a quick, "Sorry, sorry," before returning his focus to Whirl. Normally Whirl demanded attention with his too-loud jokes, offensive remarks, and combative attitude, but back here, he blended in with the mellow atmosphere, his elbows jut out in the air and his claws tucked under his helm. His optic had offlined, but it blinked back to life as Tailgate regarded him. He spotted someone red and white passed out against Whirl's abdomen, an empty glass slipping from his fingertips.

He lowered his voice. "Swerve is sleeping on you."

"I noticed," Whirl said.

"How long's he been there?"

"Like, forty minutes, tops." Whirl's optic formed a lazy half-circle and he tipped Swerve off the bench. The minibot landed with a _whump_ on the floor, followed by a whine and a complaint. A fresh chorus of _shhhh_ s rose from the stands. Whirl gave a satisfied twirl of his foot while Tailgate clamped a hand over his faceplate, muffling a giggle.

"Why're you here if you're not watching the movie?" Tailgate asked. He knew better than to prod at someone who was quick to jam a rifle down anyone's throat at the wrong question, but Whirl acted unusually pleasant. A little influence called alcohol, Tailgate supposed, but Whirl had proven that he could be civil on more than one occasion.

"Could ask you the same," he said. "My hab suite's'too quiet."

"You don't like the quiet?"

"Nah. Leaves me to.." His optic became a suspicious slant, cutting into him. "S'not important."

Tailgate almost took his cue to stop right there. Almost. "I think it is," he pestered. "It sounds like _you_ like our company."

"Yeah right," Whirl scoffed, and a bot in one row up elbowed him to pipe down. He shoved back in kind, but did lower his voice, folding his claws over his stomach. "I like the action movies and there's only so many things you can do on this ship before you run out of resources for your ideas."

"Fair enough." Tailgate swung his legs. He tuned in to the movie for a minute, but quickly lost interest. He knew about as much now as he did when he'd first zoned out. His gaze zipped back to the supine Whirl, but he found Whirl staring at him and felt inexplicably flustered.

"Uhm, is that comfy?" he asked, gesturing to Whirl's position.

"I've slept on worse in worse positions." Whirl rolled his shoulders and Tailgate relaxed at the sound of his stretching, then the gentle clamp-clamp-clamp as he wiggled back down. Tailgate watched his stabilizers shift, then his rotors spin once in a slow,lazy circle.

"You can use my lap, if you want," he offered without thinking. Whirl's optic dilated to full size, squeezing against its borders, his helm tilting. Tailgate wished he could reel his words back in and was ready to dismiss his offer, but Whirl shrugged again and shuffled towards him. He propped his head up then lowered it between Tailgate's legs, his optic housing a black hole and very, very near.

Tailgate felt dumbstruck. His fingers clenched in awkward fists, one hanging in the air to reduce as much contact as possible. He became hyper-aware of the weight on his legs, and that Whirl's helm, if turned on its side, would take up almost the entire length of his thigh. He stared at the projection again but would've had more success performing an autopsy on himself. He must've looked ridiculous with his arms mid-air like a puppet on strings.

"Better?" he asked.

"Hm," Whirl mumbled. Sounded like a yes. Tailgate beamed and uncoiled his fingers.

"Can I rest my hand here?" His servo hovered above Whirl's waist, just below his cockpit, and tapped the spot.

"Yeah."

Tailgate almost felt dizzy. Whirl surprised him more than he surprised himself, giving him yes after yes. He laid his palm flat, then relaxed his fingers, his white hand extra tiny against the dark expanse of teal. It felt right, even looked right. Whirl twitched, then relaxed.

The extra contact helped soothe his nerves, and apparently Whirl's as well. Whirl's EM field leaned against his own, and he returned the favour, as if they were sitting comfortably back to back. This time he did engage in the movie for a few minutes, but eventually his attention returned to Whirl. His optic hadn't onlined since.

"Can I touch your head?" he barely heard himself whisper.

Whirl didn't move. Time stood still. Tailgate wondered if he'd fallen into recharge, hadn't heard him, or, worst of all, had felt a hot flare of anger for even having the audacity to ask and was withholding the urge to slingshot him across the room. Anxiety clutched his spark, closing his vocalizer before he could murmur it again, louder. Feeling like he'd soured the mood, he stared hard at Rewind's movie.

"Okay."

The admission startled Tailgate. He glanced down and Whirl's bulb of an eye stared back.

"Y'know. Because you asked." Whirl's optic blinked off. Tailgate let loose a gush of cool air and he raised both his hands, tentatively resting them around the curve of Whirl's helm. Whirl gave a minute flinch that would've been invisible to anyone else, but pressed so close, Tailgate couldn't miss it. It took longer, but eventually he relaxed just as he had before, and Tailgate explored.

Everyone always got close-ups of Whirl's head whenever he invaded their personal space, but only for a fraction of a second and never so intimately. Tailgate slid his palms up, towards Whirl's optic housing, one thumb working around the hood and one brushing against his prongs. He circled his thumb around each prong, pressed his thumbs to the inside and traced out to the points, the back to the base. He noticed a small slot set between them. He moved on.

Whirl's helm wasn't perfectly circular. Its curves flared into points, and Tailgate followed one out with his finger, humming. He cupped one of Whirl's audials between a thumb and index finger, stroking gently. Whirl's vents made a shuttering noise, and he instinctively turned his helm, just slightly, into the touch. Tailgate smiled, but he kept his mouth sealed, paranoid that at any moment Whirl would wake up from whatever spell he was under and shove Tailgate off the bench like he had with Swerve.

With that thought in mind he relished the moment, delineating the vents on top of Whirl's head with one finger and following it back down to the points roosted on top. His hand skipped over to the antennae poking out from Whirl's right audial, held it between two fingers, and stroked up. Whirl full on shivered from his head to his pedes and Tailgate's wrist snapped up, alarmed. The antennae sprang up after him.

Whirl's optic winked on. "Don't touch that unless you plan on taking me back to your room, munchkin."

Tailgate didn't even think that was such a far-fetched idea at this point, and before he knew it his processor was off to the races, back in his room, tangled together with Whirl and Cyclonus. It wondered what other places would elicit the same reaction or more. His frame heated up accordingly, much to his own chagrin, and Whirl snickered and offlined his optic again. Tailgate's hand returned to Whirl's side.

"Thanks," he said. "Uhm. For letting me touch your head."

"Thanks for asking."


End file.
